Echoes Through Glass
by Dark Empyrean
Summary: The Doctor never left 19 yr old Amelia Pond behind after the events in The 11th Hour. Instead, they shared two whole years together, but were forced to forget them because they broke all the rules. T for now for romance,  mildly  suggestive situations.
1. Chapter 1: The Doctor Lies

Author's note:

Thanks for taking the time to read my first Doctor Who fanfic! I write urban fantasy and paranormal YA novels for a living in that strange place known as The Real World and welcome feedback.

My only other fanfiction endeavors occurred when, stuck with a pair of bored children one summer, I introduced them to my favorite childhood cartoons. This led to that magic question, "What happens next?" Echoes Through Glass is my first fanfic based on a series for grown-ups. I hope you enjoy it half as much as I do writing it.

Although I love Rose and 9/10, I am an even bigger Amy/11 fan. This fic was born from the idea that the Doctor did indeed return for Amy immediately following their Prisoner Zero adventure, and that the pair had two whole years together before the Doctor returned Amy to the timeline we all know from the series. So why would the Doctor take his Amy back to Leadworth after two years together? Because he's going to break all the rules, and he knows it.

What? Tell you more? Spoilers, darling! (There is no River in this timeline, Amy isn't yet engaged to Rory, and I do not own Doctor Who. Although I did get a model Tardis for my birthday!) Enjoy!

Chapter One:

The Doctor Lies

"I know what you're thinking," the note mocked in the rounds and spirals of long-dead Gallifreyan script.

"Impossible," the Doctor told the scrap of vellum, waving it in the air in case it didn't hear him. "How can you know what I'm thinking? I'm the Doctor. Even I don't know what I'm thinking half the… oh. I… see."

More Gallifreyan writing flared into life, the letters brilliant as banked embers when his fingers brushed against the ink. He leaned against the console to read, thoughts racing faster than his double heartbeats. "Do not go back for Amelia Pond. Return for her in two Earth years." The Doctor tugged absently on his bowtie. "Your lives depend on it," he whispered, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he finished reading the note.

A note in his own handwriting. A note he'd obviously left for himself. "But how?" he demanded of the empty air. "And why? Did you have anything to do with this?" he asked the Tardis suspiciously. There was no answer, of course, only a swirl of warm air around him and a faint whining noise from the console.

The Doctor thought of Amelia Pond, alone and asleep in that empty, wrong house. The fierce, red-headed Girl Who Waited had no doubt decided he had lied to her again, abandoning her without a thought while he raced off to the moon. But the Doctor had come back for her, even if he was a few hours late. He had every intention of snatching her away from a life that had clearly gone wrong.

He wasn't sure how or why her life was wrong, only that it was, and it was probably his fault. Most things were, after all. But he was here now to make things right for the seven-year-old girl he'd abandoned five minutes and twelve years ago. "Twelve years and she's kissing strangers. For fun! Or money." He ran long, unfamiliar fingers through even more unfamiliar hair. "Or fun _and_ money. Five minutes! And she's dressed as a policewoman, dating Beaky the Nurse. How could I possibly have let this happen to a brave little Scottish girl?" The Tardis doors swung open, filling the room with clean Leadworth air. He gave the note a suspicious glare before letting it slide to a rest on the console. "And after all that Prisoner Zero, saving the Earth nonsense. In which she was brilliant, I'll have you know," he told the empty room.

The Doctor inched out of the Tardis, one finger held up in the night air. He was three hours, twenty-four minutes, and six seconds late. The air was temperate to him, but his body temperature ran cooler than a human's. Amy might need a jumper, or perhaps his own coat. "Can't have her running around in her nightie," he practically hummed to himself, bounding up the crumbling walkway that led to her too large home.

But then he stopped dead, remembering the note. "Your lives depend on it," he repeated, hesitating. He thought of Rose and Donna, and his own still-unfamiliar new form. He knew that Amelia Pond wasn't the only one who'd been waiting. His own life was one agonized, empty waiting room that he filled with adventures and dangers and lies. The worst lie of all was that waiting was just another word for passing time, when he knew it was a different kind of death. A slow but terrible death by inches that pretended to be kind, that pretended to have hope, but was full of nothing instead.

He'd been waiting since Gallifrey, since The Moment, since countless genocides that were still going on, would always go on, sealed inside a time lock like a drowning creature that begged for death and got eternity instead.

"So in a way, we're dead already," he told the quarter-full moon almost cheerfully. "Rule one: the Doctor lies. Even in notes written in Gallifreyan. Glad that's settled." Then, so softly even his alien ears barely caught it, he whispered, "Amelia Pond, get your coat," before letting himself in.

***11***

Rory was about to die.

Rory was about to die because Amy was going to kill him.

Her sort-of boyfriend was an intelligent young man. He knew better than to wake her up after a Prisoner Zero sort of day by poking her on the shoulder. And he certainly knew better than to let himself in without her knowledge or consent, making the bed creak and dip with his weight, poking her again and muttering things like, "Fascinating," before doing it two more times. He knew better than to point flashlights that made strange noises at her and poke her a third and fourth time.

"Rory!" she finally snapped, burying her head beneath her pillow. "You. Are. So. Dead." Amy reached out blindly and swung hard, connecting with a muscled forearm that neither flinched nor pulled away. "Go 'way!"

"Rory. That's Beaky, your boyfriend?" Amy froze at the familiar voice. "Sorry to disappoint. Definitely not Rory. And did you know you snore? Just a little bit, really. Like a tired puppy that's eaten too much. Kind of cute, actually."

"You're not Rory," Amy said, rolling in one smooth motion to the far edge of her bed. She held the pillow to her chest like a shield. "You're… oh my god, you're back." He grinned maniacally at her, palms out as if in surrender. "The Raggedy Doctor is back." She dropped the pillow, not caring that nothing now separated them but cotton sheets. Lightning-fast, she snatched his arm, pinching him sharply on the forearm. "You're real."

He shrugged. "Real enough. Sorry I didn't cry out, but that didn't hurt. Would you like to try again?"

Suddenly Amy felt enraged. Twelve years of abandonment, of being teased about him, of going to see doctors who insisted she was crazy, came flooding in. She smacked him with her pillow. "No, I would not. What are you doing here? In my bedroom?" She smacked him again. He grinned widely. "I thought you left me. Again." She barely choked out the last word. At that, his grin slipped entirely. Instead, he pulled the pillow from her hand and replaced it with his own.

"I came back," he whispered. "Come with me, Amelia Pond?" In the faint moonlight streaming in through her bedroom window, Amy thought he looked almost desperate. "I'll make it up to you, I promise. I'll take you to see stars and planets and alien races until you forget all about these past twelve years."

"I can't," she snapped, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed until she sat parallel with the Doctor. "I'll never forget it. Never. If you knew what my life has been, you wouldn't say those things." She swallowed hard, letting her long red hair obscure her face. "You wouldn't want me."

His too-bright eyes flared when she said that, then narrowed into a look she would learn as well as she knew her own face. "Are you telling me what I can and cannot do, Amy Pond? Are you telling me I'm wrong? I'm the Doctor, and I'm never wrong." Then he smiled at her again. Amy realized, with all the force of one abandoned soul suddenly recognizing another, that she would do almost anything to make him look at her like that again. He swept her red hair from her face with one long finger. "Trust me, Amelia Pond."

"Let me get my coat," she said simply.


	2. Chapter 2: Good Madness

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who commented on the last chapter. Feedback is always appreciated! The response has been wonderful, which makes it that much more fun.

This chapter is entirely from Amy's point of view. We get much more of the Doctor and their beginning travels in Chapter Three. I almost posted them together, but the length was just too much. It's coming very soon, though. (I tend to update every few days.)

As always, I do not own Doctor Who. Enjoy!

Chapter Two:

Good Madness

"You should have let me get my own jumper," Amy grumbled, huddled inside the Doctor's coat.

"I was afraid you'd change your mind," he told her, his grip on her hand just short of painful. "Besides, the pockets are bigger on the inside."

"Yes, I know," Amy grumbled again, but this time she was trying to hide a smile. So her presence, her decision to come, mattered to him then. And his pockets really were bigger on the inside. She'd managed to stuff them with a few important things before being hauled out of her bedroom, in her nightie, at a speed she fervently hoped wasn't what he considered normal. "I can't believe I'm doing this. Why am I doing this? I'm running away with my imaginary friend." Amy glanced at her too-large house, the neighboring ones she never visited, and the skeletal trees as the Doctor rushed her down the crumbling path. "I must be completely mental, just like all those doctors…"

He spun on her so fast she lost her footing and stumbled. Long cool fingers wrapped around her forearms, steadying her before she could fall. "Listen to me, Amelia Pond, because this is important." He held up a single finger between them as if feeling the wind, and then poked her right on the sternum. She winced. "I am a doctor, _the_ Doctor, and I am most definitely mad. But the world always needs good madness, and in no way does it make you mental."

The sliver of moon painted everything around them in muted grays and deep shadows. Amy felt insubstantial as a ghost in the cold soft wind, the layers of her white nightgown pooling out around her knees. Of purest white, the fabric made her the brightest thing under the night sky, except for the banked fierceness she saw in the Doctor's eyes. They popped and sparked like a live thing. He held both of her hands now, the big blue box behind him shrouded in shadows. "I'll make it up to you, Amy," he said. It was the softest of promises, the most fervent of vows. "Whatever they did to your head, whatever they made you believe, about me, about yourself, I promise I'll make it right somehow." Coaxing now, he walked backwards with her towards the dark box, so familiar and yet totally surreal.

"I can't believe it," she whispered to him, as if telling a secret. "It's just like I remember. Just like all those models I made as a kid."

Amy expected to be embarrassed, confessing that she had made childhood toys out of the very man who was pulling her across her yard in a peculiar, shuffling dance. But he gave her a smile like the absent sun and patted absently at his pockets. Pockets in a coat that she was wearing haphazardly across her shoulders. And then Amy did flush a humiliating shade of scarlet underneath her pale skin, redder even than her hair, as he slipped a hand into a pocket at her hip.

"These." The Doctor smiled his best crooked smile and held up a paper mache Tardis. "It's lovely. You even got the sign right."

Amy flushed again. "You brought them." Her voice wavered.

"Of course. I love toys. But the real thing…" The door swung open behind him. "Is even better."

They were inside. The blue box with a swimming pool in the library that was, like his pockets, much bigger on the inside. And she was in it, with her Raggedy Doctor who was no longer quite so raggedy, and she was no longer a child. Amy dug in her heels, suddenly and powerfully terrified, but the floor in the Tardis console room slipped uselessly away beneath her feet. "I can't…" she gasped, alarms going off in her head. "There's Leadworth… and Rory… and my job and…"

"And?" He looked at her expectantly. "Your job, if indeed that's what it is, will just have to find another policewoman. You're not going back to that no matter what. Leadworth will keep. And Beak… I mean Rory… will wait. If he's worth it: He. Will. Wait." The Doctor pulled levers and smashed buttons and…was that a pinball machine? There was a whirring sound, like a madly purring cat, before Amy landed hard on her back as the Tardis careened out of control.

She couldn't help it; she started laughing. The Doctor looked at her, mildly interested in case she really had lost her mind, but then released his death grip on the console to help her up. "Wonderful, isn't it?" he boomed. "Love a good take off. Come on, Pond. Share the joke. What's so funny?"

Amy, who hadn't stopped giggling, smashed into his shoulder as the Tardis shook again. "I missed it," she gasped out at last. "I missed being able to say, 'It's bigger on the inside," and to ohh and ahh appropriately, because I got dumped flat on my back. I've dreamed of what I would say, ever since I was seven, and I missed my chance because… I'm in my nightie and a madman's coat, and I'll never have a first time on the Tardis again!"

The Doctor regarded her gravely for a moment, and then was all smiles and grand gestures. "Never say never, Amy Pond. Not to a time traveler. Now, where to next? We have all of time and space."

"World enough and time," she interjected excitedly. "It's like that poem I used to love. World enough…"

"Had we but world enough and time, to see the evening spread across the sky, like a patient etherized," the Doctor recited, laughing, into her face. "T.S. Eliot, 'The…'"

"The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock!" The Doctor's lightning flash moods were so contagious. She smiled with him, like an overgrown child. "Yes! I remember now." The Tardis was stable enough to free her hands from their death grip on his arm. She tucked wild red hair behind her ears. "We have that, then? The world and time?"

"And more," the Doctor promised.

"Then surprise me," she said, and handed him his coat.


	3. Chapter 3: Fairytales and Rabbit Holes

Author's Note:

Sorry for the delay. I've been facing some crushing deadlines of late, and have only recently been able to write something for the sheer *fun* of it. Which is, of course, glorious! I appreciate everyone who's written and reviewed. I am new to Doctor Who, and although I love it passionately, feedback is always useful. Hope you enjoy it!

As always, I do not own Doctor Who. This chapter was written under the influence of Warpaint's "Billie Holiday."

Best, DE

Chapter Three:

Fairytales and Rabbit Holes

After the Tardis took off for the first time, the Doctor watched as Amelia Pond stopped waiting.

He waited until things settled just a bit to observe her reactions to the bigger-on-the-inside time machine. He watched her with minute care. People's first reactions to the Tardis were always revelatory. He would learn much about her character by the way the two interacted. Would she squeal and faint? Would she be all bluster and fake confidence, trying to act as if time travel was really no big deal? He sincerely hoped not. What he wished for, and almost never got, was a sincere acknowledgement of his maddening machine. Someone who felt as reverent towards as he did. To find that…

The Doctor dropped his head. He almost never found that. It was why he had so few companions. But Amy with the formerly fairytale name might be different. He had a feeling about this one. Of course, he couldn't let her know how closely he was observing her, and so he fiddled about with the control panel while watching her out of the corner of his eye.

After her initial giddiness wore off, she took exactly three measured paces towards the center console, standing alone on the walkway in a cloud of white nightgown. Her bare toes curled inward and her red hair was wild with sleep. He tried to think of a more beautiful companion and, at that moment, could not. Something in her face, he thought. Something between hope and recognition, like a lost soul coming home. He watched as she cast one quick look at the console and slipped sideways to a copper-colored Tardis support beam. She floats, he thought, watching her bare calves and feet. No, he corrected quickly. She dances.

Amy reached out with hesitant fingers and felt the interior of the Tardis as if handling fine china. Long fingers, the Doctor noticed, free of any jewelry or polish. Good hands. And then his hearts soared, because she leaned in close to the wall and stroked it as if it were a live thing. "Hello there," she murmured, the deep ruby tints of her hair flaring like fire against the copper-colored walls. "Are we going to have adventures, then?" she asked.

She spoke to it, he thought, shocked. I speak to her all the time, but I'm the Doctor. Amy was a fragile, limited human, and yet she treated his Tardis as if it was _more_. More than a box or a thing. _I was right,_ he thought simply and without arrogance. _I was right about Amelia Pond_.

"Well, perhaps she's a bit more reverent than me," he admitted out loud. "I am rather energetic in my approach to traveling." The console beeped at him as if in acknowledgement.

"Energetic?" Amy repeated. "What do you mean?"

The Doctor tried to hide a grin and failed. Should he explain how much he threw himself into melding with his machine, pushing her controls as hard and fast as he could until he felt his own arms vibrate with her power? Or should he just show her?

Amy leaned against a support, wide-eyed and slightly breathless. _She does feel it, then,_ he thought. The insane wonder of the place got to her too. He wondered how well she was processing everything, and if there was anything he could do to help.

"There's plenty of room, as you see," he told her, casually flipping a switch. "Just pick out a bedroom. The Tardis probably already has one prepared for you; it's just a matter of finding it. Like a treasure hunt." He turned a dial. "Or something like it."

"But," Amy said softly, and for the first time she sounded more than a little lost. "I'm in my nightie, and I'm about to travel through time and space."

The Doctor recognized the single note of hysteria that struck all his most intelligent companions creeping into her voice. _It's hitting her, what we're about to do. She knows how impossible this is… how impossible I am… and she's going to jump anyway._ He rocked back and forth on his heels, his hands clasped behind her back, bouncing a little with anticipation.

"You're perfect. It's perfect. We'll go all kinds of places dressed completely out of step with the customs, so there's no better way to start than one's nightie. Unless, of course, one wears pajamas. Which is another matter entirely. Now Amy Pond!" He grasped the lever, the most important one, with both hands. "This is what I mean by energetic!"

He threw the control bar and began swiftly moving around the console, his hands a whirl of movement and flash while the Tardis careened like a bucking horse. Amy Pond, who was not yet proficient enough in holding on for dear life, fell flat on her nightgowned bottom. After a moment in which she looked totally stunned and then indignant, she started to laugh.

Which was exactly as the Doctor had intended: to throw her out of her fear, and into the thrill of the chase. His whole world consisted of chasing or being chased, and after a long time travelling alone, he had her at last: the girl with the fairytale name who had waited for him.

***11***

The Doctor surprised her. Television and books, Amy quickly learned, did not prepare one for real aliens or their worlds.

He showed her:

The signing of The Shadow Proclamation.

The signing of The Magna Carta.

A planet populated by sapphire-colored cats that fit right into her cupped hands.

An underwater kingdom where the ruling family looked like the mermaids in her illustrated Hans Christian Anderson tales still on her bookshelf back home in Leadworth.

A gray industrial wasteland, spotted with crumbling heaps of former buildings, with beings that had lost their bodies and existed now as clouds of sentient metal dust.

A star burning out, necessitating no less than four planet-wide evacuations.

At the end of a week, Amy's head was spinning. _What have I gotten myself into?_ she wondered, more than once. But then he would be there, making her laugh, or holding her hand as they ran from some human-eating creature, or smiling his infectious smile.

And then there were the hugs, tight and full-bodied, with the occasional kiss to her forehead and a murmured, "It's all right, Pond. You're safe with me."

Sometimes, when he thought she wasn't looking, she could see the weight of centuries in his eyes. He was haunted, her Doctor, and she was determined to find out why. She would help him, if she could. And if she couldn't help him, couldn't erase the darkness she saw, then she was determined to help him forget. If running from aliens was what it took, then that's what she would do.

She was shocked at how well known he was, and how much in demand. Everywhere they went, it seemed, people not only knew who he was but also desperately needed his help before their planet exploded or their princess died or some other alien race turned them all into robots or slaves. It was really quite wearying.

"Do you ever suspect they purposely wait until you show up to have a crisis? I mean, it's almost like they place orders or something." Amy paced around the console as he manipulated the eternally changing and confusing thing.

He barked a laugh. "I knew there was a reason I kept you around, Pond."

"Remind me again what it was?" she asked wryly.

"I'll take you someplace wonderful instead."

"You've been saying that since I first came on board."

"And we've been to all kinds of amazing places. Come on, Pond. I know you're enjoying yourself." He released a lever and snaked out a hand to hold hers. His grip was tight and cool, like his skin. "You begged to keep a sapphire cat as a pet." He sounded incredulous. "A Sapphyria. From Rygos IV. It's a good thing none of them heard you, or we would have been in even more trouble than we already were."

"Well, they were pretty," Amy said defensively. "And how was I supposed to know they were carnivorous and telepathic? I just thought a pet might liven up the place." The Doctor raised a single, graceful eyebrow. "Oh, ok," Amy huffed. "In between the running and the chasing and the end-of-the-world stuff, that is, we could use some livening round here."

The Doctor studied her for a minute, and Amy felt herself blushing crimson for no good reason.

"Nighward Station," he said decisively. "Peaceful, on the outer edges of a backwater galaxy, but full of traders and travelers. You'll love it."

"Ooh, dangerous words, those. 'I'll love it,' says the Doctor," she grumbled, but secretly, she was pleased that he was basing an entire stop on making her happy.

"But this time I really mean it. A place where the aliens are peaceful… mostly." He flashed her a grin. "The view of the nebula is amazing. Fantastic Italian food too. Only had better in fifteenth century Florence."

"Sounds great," Amy said, in her best lets- humor-the-madman-with-a-box tone. Deep inside, she was thrilled.

***11***

"Come along, Pond," the Doctor said impatiently. He stood just inside the open door of the Tardis, to all appearances sniffing the air. In reality, he was using his finely tuned Time Lord senses to check the climate, air quality, distance from the sun and…

"Are you sniffing the air?" Amy asked skeptically from behind him.

He squinted at the dark but busy spaceport. "Of course not, Pond. I'm using my highly developed Time Lord senses to gauge a complex series of coordinates…" At her giggle, he spun around. "Oh, all right. I'm sniffing the air."

Then he caught his breath, because she looked… radiant. Backlit against the Tardis' coppery interior and glass-like central column, she looked lit from within. A fairytale creature that had fallen down the rabbit hole just for him.

He didn't dare tell her that, though, and he wasn't sure why. He fingered his sonic nervously as he took in her short denim skirt, torn and frayed at the hem, covering tights-clad legs that reminded him just how tall she was. Boots, he noted with approval. Boots were good for stomping things, and for kicking people who deserved it, and running through tricky spots. He thoroughly approved of the boots. But the rest of it… was Nighward Station, full of merchants and mercenaries and the like, really the best place to take her?

He straightened his bow-tie. He'd promised her Italian food and aliens. Nighward Station would have to do. The Doctor offered her his arm instead of his doubts, and they stepped out onto a busy causeway. Amy practically trembled with anticipation. He was so very sold, had seen so many things and places and beings, that he forgot to feel the wonder. His companions rediscovered it for him. Perhaps because he was studying Amy, soaking up her excitement, he missed the armed guards emerging from the shadows.

Armed guards. On Nighward Station. Barely causing a break in the hustle and bustle of the busy spaceport, they ringed the duo in seconds. No one seemed to notice, or care. Heavy black visors obscured their faces as two of them trained blasters on them and two others jerked Amy away from him.

The Doctor felt his heartbeats increase at an alarming rate.

"What," he demanded crisply, "is the reason for this?"

Amy's white face seemed miles away as the guards pulled her farther away from him. "Human female," one of them said. It stepped forward with its blaster trained squarely on him. "Every human female arriving on Nighward Station must be taken in for routine testing. Just following orders, sir."

At first Amy looked as if she might faint, and then her expression shifted swiftly into Scottish fire. "Last time I checked," she hissed, "this wasn't school. I'm not taking any tests today, thank you very much." With equal parts admiration and horror, he watched as Amy kicked the guard next to her with one well-aimed booted foot. With a grunt the guard stumbled sideways. The Doctor reached for his sonic, and found a blaster aimed right between his eyes.

"Don't," the guard cautioned. "We're just following orders."

"Whose orders?" he snapped, watching as Amy was quickly restrained.

"The Magister's," the guard replied. Amy kicked and struggled and swore, even though her wrists were bound and she was being pulled backwards away from him. _Did she just bite that guard_, he wondered, startled into almost grinning. _I believe she did_. "I'll get this sorted, Pond. No worries!" he called, trying to sound calming. He was pretty sure his voice had squeaked a little towards the end, though. _Damn this young new body._

The Doctor ignored the blaster and stared the guard right in the black visor. "Listen to me, whatever you are. You will take me with her, now, or this entire station has exactly one hour to evacuate before everyone on it regrets you ever laid a finger on my friend. Do you understand?"

Black Visor lowered the blaster and raised its wrist instead. "Threatcom One," it said calmly into its wrist communicator. "I repeat, Threatcom One."

The Doctor was just about to ask what that meant, and to demand again that he be taken to Amy, when something hard and heavy hit him on the back of the head.

His world went black.


	4. Chapter 4: Tested

Author's note: Sorry for the long absence. I'm juggling two novels at once right now, and have found it difficult to make time for this with my deadlines. I'm really glad I did, though; it's wonderful to be back in the Dr. Who universe. What follows is an Amy chapter, but not to worry, the Doctor will be back with us next. Thanks for all the reviews and pm's. (See, Xia? I did write more!) (I do not own Doctor Who.)

Chapter Four:

Tested

Darkness held her.

Amy struggled against it just as she struggled against the restraints that pinned her arms and legs. She had no idea where she was or what was happening to her; she was only aware that she was flat on her back against a hard, cold surface. Her clothing had been replaced by a much lighter fabric. Too light, in fact; she shivered a bit in air too cool for her.

"Doctor!" she screamed with lung-bruising strength. "Doctor! Are you there?"

There was no answer. Amy turned her head until it rested flush against the cold metal underneath her. Her head ached and her mouth had a peculiar taste to it, like she had just eaten a jar full of cotton balls that tasted faintly of lemon. She screamed for the Doctor again and again, until her throat felt fiery and raw.

A faint crack of light appeared. Two figures, clad head to toe in some kind of sparkly, crinkly fabric, stood silhouetted by the light. They wore what looked like surgical masks that obscured much of their faces but left their eyes visible. Those eyes peered at her now with marked concern.

"Where am I?" she managed to croak. "Why am I here?"

They had no answers for her, or else they refused to give them. Instead, they converged on her, holding something that looked suspiciously like a needle high in one of their hands. Amy bucked like a wild thing. The figure not holding the needle grabbed her manacled forearm in an attempt to still her. Amy fought harder.

When she felt the sharp prick of slender steel driving into her flesh, she screamed.

"What's wrong with her?" one of the figures asked, withdrawing the needle. "It's as if she has no idea about the testing."

"No," Amy said through gritted teeth. "She has no idea about the testing. What the hell is going on?" she demanded, wishing she could swipe at the tears that had formed during the needle stick.

The two figures stared at each other. "Is it possible?" asked one of them. "Could she be…."

Amy decided they weren't going to answer her questions. They wouldn't stop referring to her in the third person either. So she started screaming for the Doctor again. He would come for her; he had to.

"Ssh," the person who'd stuck her said. Warm hands brushed her hair away from her forehead. "It will all be over soon." The words sounded very ominous to Amy, bound and helpless beneath them. Another needle appeared in her field of vision, and she went wild, bucking and thrashing until she cracked her own head against the surface of the table.

"Sedative," said a crisp, authoritarian voice. Human female, Amy decided. Before she could blink, the other person had stabbed her again. This time, she didn't shriek. Instead, she instantly felt a dreamy calmness spread throughout her body. She tried to remember why she had been thrashing and couldn't. Who had she been screaming for? The Doctor? Well, surely these people were doctors too, and she must be in very good hands because she felt so wonderful, all floaty and dreamy and giggly.

"Is that better?" asked the woman who'd called for the sedative.

Amy could only giggle. Of course she was better. She was more than better. She felt wonderful, and she had these lovely strangers to thank for it. If only they would let her up, she'd give them a hug….

"I think we can dispense with these," said the other person. Male, Amy thought, and then laughed outright. Everything seemed so funny and wonderful and mixed up, like a funhouse full of distorted mirrors. Before she could tell her new friends about how much fun circuses could be, she felt the restraints slide away. Warm hands helped her sit up. She was grateful for the hands; without them, she might have fallen off the table.

"I'm sure you'll be able to leave soon," said the male soothingly. "Just as soon as we get a negative test result."

Amy nodded, even though she had no idea what he meant. She no longer cared. Instead, she stared at the gown she was wearing. It was so thin it was almost sheer, and there was a faint sparkle to the fabric. It clung to her in embarrassing places, and she found herself wishing for her more familiar clothes from Leadworth.

But it didn't matter. Nothing did, really, except the wonderful floaty feeling.

The door flew open. Black-visored security guards ringed a small woman in a white lab coat. Amy smiled crookedly and waved. The woman ignored her and hurried over to the other two. She seemed very excited; her movements were quick and jerky. Amy felt her head spinning just looking at her.

Her captors gathered in a loose group around the woman, who, Amy now saw, held a vial full of crimson liquid. In the dim light of the room, it looked like old blood. The three conferred in hushed whispers, stopping occasionally to stare at her. She just barely heard the words "positive" and "impossible" before the three of them came to ring her around the table.

"Congratulations," the woman in the lab coat said with false cheerfulness. "You are the first positive test result we've had in almost twenty years."

Amy felt confused, but it was a lovely confusion and she didn't want it to go away. "You mean I passed?" she asked, a little surprised to realize that she was slurring her words.

The woman beamed at her and held out her hand. "Oh yes. I suppose you could call it that. You came to us just in time. With the eggs you're carrying, you should be able to provide genetic material for several future generations."

"Umm," Amy said stupidly. "What?"

The woman patted her hand. Her touch was warm and soft and vaguely maternal. "The test, dear. It was a fertility test. You're the first fertile female we've caught… I mean, hosted… in two generations. You're incredibly valuable to us. You'll be well treated."

"But…" There was a problem here, several, in fact, Amy was certain. But she couldn't focus on what they were. Suddenly, she caught sight of the woman's lab coat and remembered and thought of doctors. Of course! The Doctor. "But my friend! I came here with someone… someone important. Where is he?" she asked, trying to think through the jelly that had become her brain.

"Oh, don't worry," said one of the black-visored men. He laughed, a low, ominous sound. It sent chills up Amy's neck. "He won't be bothering you anymore."

Amy felt the stick of a needle in her arm for the third time that day, and promptly blacked out.


	5. Chapter 5: Last-Born

**Author's note:** I've had so many things happen since the last update that this feels like coming home to a brand new story. I've been banging my head against a work-in-progress and I realized it had been ages since I actually had *fun* writing. It had become a chore, and what's the point of that? So I decided to pick this back up, because Doctor Who is one hell of a fun universe to play in. Hope you enjoy, and as always, I welcome feedback. It keeps me posting. Thanks!

**Chapter Five: Last-Born**

Ringed by pesky guards carrying annoying weapons of death and destruction, the Doctor decided passing out was a good idea.

Well, that was carrying things a bit far. His pride wouldn't let him sink that low. But it did enable him to pretend to be passed out, slowing and evening out his breathing until his careless human captors relaxed their guard.

Now would be a good time to act, a tiny part of him suggested. The weapons were deadly but primitive, and he was sure he could disable them with his sonic. That left only a handful of them to be overpowered in some way— a way that would surely become clear to him as soon as he started his counterattack. What was that phrase Amy used? Piece of cake?

But then he'd be stuck on Nighward Station, still with nary a clue as to where they'd taken Amy. And he couldn't have that continue. Amy belonged with him. He was responsible for her, and even now they could be poking her or experimenting on her, or who knew, really…

He shut down that train of thought as unproductive. No, better to continue to seem unconscious. After all, he was a security threat. Threatcom One, he thought with scorn. He was so much more than that. He was the Oncoming Storm! The Last Timelord, the Scourge of a Thousand Galaxies, Defender of a Thousand Galaxies...

He had to bite back an "oww!" as they bumped his head against a door.

A medium-sized facility like Nighward Station most likely kept their prisoners in the same place. That was what Amy was, even if they hid that fact behind pretty lies like, "test subject." She was unwilling, and that made her as much a captive as him. The thought sent his hearts racing and set his teeth on edge. Still, he let himself be hurried along. Odds were good they were taking him to the same secure area where they kept their human test subjects. Once he was inside, he'd find her, if he had to take the place apart with his bare hands.

They would not take her from him. They'd spent too much time apart anyway, and he'd just now gotten her back. That he felt her absence so keenly tugged at him, disturbing him more than the actual situation in which he found himself. It was too soon to be feeling this protective of an almost brand new companion. Perhaps he should have paid more attention to that note.

* * *

><p>Amy awoke underneath a heavy coverlet that looked like it had been made of pieces of jewels stitched together. The light was dim and flickering— inviting, even— but the pounding in her head increased as soon as she opened her eyes. Nausea surged through her, and she doubled over, clutching her stomach with a groan.<p>

That's when she noticed her clothing. Or rather, her lack of it.

She wasn't naked, not exactly, but if the outfit from the testing room had been light to the point of discomfort, then the fabric of her current gown might as well not exist. Just barely opaque, the white gown was woven through with golden sunbursts and silver moons. It was voluminous, hanging past her wrists in deep belled sleeves, but all that almost non-existent fabric somehow just made her feel more naked. She curled her toes and discovered she was barefoot. All these facts, along with the nausea, swelled within her and fed her rage.

How dare they, whoever they were? She wanted her boots back. Those, and someone to kick, would make her feel a thousand times better.

Someone cleared his throat. She knew it was a male, because the sound was deep and full, and the owner stepped into the light almost immediately after making it. He was blond, and had to be around her age. Assuming he was human, of course. The Doctor looked nearly her age, and he was… just how old was he? She shook off the errant thought and tried to concentrate.

He too wore some kind of loose silvery robe. It clung to his upper body like liquid before flaring at the waist to settle around slippered feet. He leaned against one of the bedposts; that was another revelation, that she was lying in the center of a very large, very formal looking bed. On Earth it would have been a cross between a Victorian antique and something from an Egyptian pharaoh's tomb.

"I'm sorry they had to drug you past the point of comfort," the man said. "The entire acquisitions team will be severely dealt with, I assure you."

Amy felt her temper flare even more. "Oh, okay. I suppose drugging me lightly, against my will, would have been just fine?"

The man raised an eyebrow while his full mouth quirked into a half-smile. "Well, when you put it that way, I suppose it does sound disturbing." He didn't walk so much as glide toward the flickering light, which Amy realized was a fireplace. A huge fireplace taking up almost an entire wall and made of large slabs of crystal that caught the light and refracted it back at her in pulses. "You'll have to excuse us. An entire society without the responsibility of child-rearing is bound to be somewhat… decadent."

His words made little sense, and she felt them wash over her like water. Dizzy again, and furious, she slumped back against her pillow and pulled the coverlet up around her like it was a life preserver in treacherous seas.

"I'm Erik, by the way." Glasses clinked and liquid fizzed. "Erik, the Last-Born."

He made it sound like some kind of title. "Is that supposed to mean something to me?" Amy cautiously sat back up, only to be confronted by a glass of what looked like ginger ale. She highly doubted it was.

"Go on," Erik said, perching on the edge of her bed. "It's only mildly alcoholic. It should help your head."

His face was open and friendly, his blue eyes wide above a full smile. He seemed completely harmless, but almost every single thing that had happened to her since she left the Tardis for Nighward Station had been anything but. From her capture, to the drugs, to the scandalous clothing and now the casual attitude towards mind-altering substances… She took the drink and flung it directly in Erik's face.

"Stay the hell away from me," she hissed, pulling her legs up towards her body under the coverlet. She wanted to be able to lunge if she needed to. "I want to see the Doctor. The man I came here with. I want to see him now."

Erik looked shocked as the liquid from her glass stained his robe. "You don't need to worry about doctors quite yet," he said, brushing errant drops from his cheek. "We're weeks away from that stage, at best."

"Weeks away from what, exactly?" Amy echoed, becoming increasingly alarmed. She didn't understand what was going on. It was like the two of them were speaking different languages, even though she knew the Tardis language matrix made that impossible.

"Oh my. Well." He seemed acutely uncomfortable all of the sudden, dropping his eyes as if he couldn't bear to meet hers. "You mean no one's told you?"

"Told me what?" She drew the words out slowly, as if talking to a toddler.

"I suppose it's up to me then." He downed his drink in one swift, smooth gulp and gestured to a spot near the foot of the massive bed. "May I please sit? I promise I won't hurt you, or scare you, or… well. I just really need to sit."

All she could do was nod. She spared a thought, almost a prayer, for the Doctor. She knew it was selfish of her, because he probably had his hands more than full, but she couldn't help wishing he was here with her now. He could sit between her and this disturbing young man, and hold her hand and tell her everything was going to be all right. She'd believe him, because he was the Doctor, and that's what he did. Make things all right. But instead she was here, staring at a disturbing young man with eyes like sapphires, clutching the coverlet instead of her friend's hand.

"I'm called the Last-Born because I'm the youngest person on the station. For several planetary clusters, actually. The last live human birth occurred twenty-five years ago." He looked at her then, with something like pity. "The day of my birth."

"Oh my god." Amy suddenly had trouble breathing. Things were making sense now, and she kind of wished they wouldn't. In the testing room, where they'd taken her after separating her from the Doctor. "The first fertile female in two generations," someone had said.

Fertile female. Her.

She wished for her drink back— the one she'd thrown at Erik. A little fuzzy-headedness would be welcome right now. But she steeled herself and glared.

"That's absolutely not my problem," she said. "If you don't let me go now— this very minute— then my friend is going to make you all wish you'd never laid a hand on either one of us. That's a promise."

"I understand how you feel…" Erik began.

Amy threw the coverlet aside and vaulted from the bed. She was so angry she could barely see straight. She was beyond caring what she was or wasn't wearing, or who this Last-Born person was.

"Don't say that," she spat, furious. "You have no idea. None at all."

"Maybe not," Erik temporaized. "But no matter your personal feelings, I want you to think about just one thing, and then I'll leave you alone." He stood and smoothed his robes. He gave her plenty of distance, as if he sensed the anger and wildness inside her. "You're here against your will, separated from your only friend, drugged and stripped of everything familiar. That's a terrible thing, I do understand that."

She made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat, but he held up a hand to silence her.

"Just ask yourself: are those good enough reasons to condemn an entire star system to extinction? Think about it, Amy. You say your friend's a doctor. What would he think? Would he stand by and watch an entire population fade away from existence when one person had the power to save them all?"

She felt his words like a punch to the gut. To save an entire star system… her? How could she turn her back on that, no matter how they'd treated her?

As Erik turned and exited through a door panel on the far side of the fireplace, she had never missed her Doctor more.


End file.
